


Head full of doubt/ Road full of promise

by helpiamabug



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helpiamabug/pseuds/helpiamabug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Basch and Larsa share a few stolen moments on Bur-Omisace to remember their brothers together, and to forge new bonds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Head full of doubt/ Road full of promise

By all the gods, Basch had forgotten just how bloody cold it was in the temple on Bur-Omisace. His training here so long ago was tempered by Vossler's warmth in the snowcaves at night, and the slow burn of whiskey and bloodlust. Now, though, the wind whistles through his leathers and bites at the skin showing through the fur robes the initiates had clad them in upon their harrowing return from the passes.

He cannot deny that the view from the balcony is beautiful, though, and he settles himself against the pillar with his mug of tea and peers out through the drifting snow to the peaks below and beside them, and lets himself imagine he can see Knights of the Order tramping up the trails below, as they did before the fall of Dalmasca, though he knows the only visitors here are dethroned royalty and Archadian ambassadors come to woo Lord Larsa back to the wolves den in one last attempt to corral the poor boy's brother.

Basch finds himself so lost in his thoughts that when a figure stirs on the platform below him he windmills backwards and down into a defensive stance, Deathbringer out of the sheath before he can even think. It is only Larsa, though, who has apparently sought solace and solitude out among the elements. The boy has apparently fled his advisors for a moment to himself before they leave for Archades – not that Basch can blame him. He wraps his robe closer and steps gingerly out onto the balcony, settling himself close enough to Larsa's small frame that he can feel the heat radiating off the boy king. It feels only natural to drape his robe around the shoulders of the young man and draw him close so they share the heat of their breath under the hood of the rich furs. Larsa leans down so that he is curled around Basch's legs, and when he looks up it is clear that he has been crying.

Basch finds himself gripping Larsa's hand even without meaning to, and it seems that he takes this as permission to wind himself even closer against Basch and speak his mind: 'Is it wrong, ser, that I find myself resenting my brother for forcing the hand of his advisors and ensnaring myself in his schemes? I know I should welcome the opportunity to drive a dagger into Vayne's back - ' he stops, and laughs a terrible bitter laugh. 'I would neither murder my brother or deliver him into the hands of his enemies, and yet – how else to stop this madness? Appealing to his better nature? Perhaps he had such a thing, at one point, and yet I begin to suspect my brother has lost both his mind _and_ his morals.' Larsa shakes his head. 'I'm not a king, I'm _not_! I'm a diplomat, a _child_ , that's all I know. How am I to stop all this when I can barely see over the bloody negotiating table on my own?'

Basch hesitates for a moment only – it has been so long since he spoke of Landis, and his family – but it feels _right_ , here, to be sharing the lessons he learned (or perhaps more tellingly, failed to learn) with the youngest son of Gramis Solidor. He takes a deep breath, and begins:

'When I was young – your age, or perhaps a little older – I decided I was going to be the best chocobo breeder Landis had ever seen. Instead of spending my days roaming the highlands with Noah imagining ourselves as great brother-warriors protecting the fatherland, as before, I sequestered myself in the library and researched bloodlines and diagrams, and debating the best saddle styles with our farrier. I ignored Noah for a whole week before he confronted me about deserting him for a _bird_ , and when he called me a coward I threw caution to the winds and shouted out that I didn't want to be a warrior anymore. Noah surely disagreed with my ideas, and he and I scrapped like we had never before so that by the time the gardener got between us, I had blacked both his eyes and he had broken two of my fingers. My mother found me hiding in disgrace in her wardrobe after Father gave us the dressing down of a century, and drew out of me how ashamed I felt at disappointing my brother. 'You mustn't let what Noah thinks of your grand plans deter you', she said, 'because no matter what you are, he will love you. You must simply decide what you would like to do, and go do it.' Basch stops and clears his thickening throat before continuing: 'I have never forgotten her words, although there was many a time I would have liked to – and there was many a time I would have liked to have lived a quiet life as a chocobo breeder.'

He hears Larsa laugh softly above the wind at that, but it is only the work of a moment before the exhaled laughter hardens to a crystal point and breaks - and the boy king tightens his fingers in Basch's, moans: 'It's not _fair_ \- '

Basch's hands shake as he smooths them down the curve of Larsa's back, and he thinks of Noah and how he cried like this in Basch's lap when they received news of their mother's death, and how he didn't cry at all when they heard of their father's execution – the slow steady march of time and age and loss that lead to this – to the years of torture and months of fighting and nights without sleep or hope. They are all scarred in their own way, but at least they are together in purpose, and he knows all too well that Larsa is on his own. Tears come to his own eyes at the thought of all that lies ahead for each of them, and he lets them roll down his cheek until they freeze in his beard.

Long moments pass and blur together as Larsa spins undone there before him, low wild sobs ripping out of his throat. It starts to snow again, and the snowflakes settle thickly on the furs before the boy runs out of breath and rests limply on Basch's thigh. Larsa sighs heavily then, and wipes his eyes hard with the palm of his hand. 'Did you ever-' he starts, and then pauses. 'Do you think I can save him?'

Basch runs his fingers across the reassuring weight of his sword and dips his head to look Larsa full in the face. 'Ah, that I surely couldn't say,' he drawls. 'There's a darkness that runs through the heart of that man, and I'm sorry for those who don't see it. You and I know these matters are never just black or just white, and it will cause you much grief to have to choose.' He leans closer and presses his hand over Larsa's heart, and whispers: 'He loves you, and he will understand, whatever you do.'

Basch drops his hand to his side then and rises, drawing Larsa up with him. They walk side by side back into the scant warmth of the sanctum where Al Cid and Drace are waiting, and if Larsa is a little closer than is strictly necessary, Basch doesn't mind. Before he turns to head towards Ashe and his waiting companions, he nods his farewells, and as the Archadian delegation board their airship he finds cannot turn his gaze from the proud back of the Emperor of Archades. Ashe smiles gently at him, and their party makes their own way down the temple steps, together.

**Author's Note:**

> the plot bunnies attack!
> 
> unbeta'd as always, and as always none of these characters belong to me. i'm just playing!
> 
> story inspired by the avett bros: 'head full of doubt/ road full of promise'


End file.
